At dawn a small company had gathered on the steps of the great house of Elrond. Ponies shivered in the cool early morning air. The whole household had assembled to wish good luck to the travelers.
The twelve Dwarves had donned their traveling clothes - solid canvas tunic, studded leather broigne, lamellar armor or flashy chainmail. They rode big and strong mountain ponies with long hair, in the middle of a large number of leather and canvas secured packets. Their recently cleaned and sharpened weapons shone with conquering lights. Two additional animals bore the equipment that was mainly to be used once arrived at the mine. The four Dùnedain and Gerry stood aloof in a well-ordered company, dressed in dark green canvas and brown leather. They did not intend to mount but each had harnessed a lightly loaded mule.
Thráin realized that the mules would certainly serve on the way back. Since the Dúnedain knew, better than anyone, the needs of the ways the group would take, he did not comment. Gandalf had prepared likewise, going on foot, his small backpack slung over his shoulder, a sword at his side and his stout staff in hand. But he also led a mule, loaded with mysterious packages and boxes bearing the rune "G". Gerry followed Arathorn with his little pony Gilles, who was trying to hide his nose in the neck of its master.
The group of Elven girls sang a slow farewell, sad but not hopeless. Rúmil joked with Gerry to uplift his rather low morale. The heart of the little Hobbit clung to the thought of leaving a place of peace and harmony, to embark on an adventure that he did not completely felt like his own. His promise pegged in mind, he gritted his teeth and stepped for the sake of the lady, the honor of the Shire and perhaps also to preserve the esteem of himself.
Lady Luinloth gave him a book with a smile:
-« Perhaps will you read a little, thinking of me in the evening at the camp? »
The Hobbit bowed without promising. The lady turned to her husband. She bestowed to him a branch of an Elven tree. Legend had it that this gift should retain its freshness and protect its wearer as long as he remained faithful to his vows. The Dùnadan kissed his wife and his grand-son, laid the twig in his quiver and reviewed his companions.
Elrond had a comforting word for everyone. Gerry did not hear what the half-Elf told Thràin and Arathorn, but his face was as serious as Gandalf's. The wizard kept in mind the prophecy of Elrond, that Luinloth had also partly dreamed:
« All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;1
Renewed the splendor dispersed
Wilderness re-peopled kingdom.
On the long road winding back,
Of cardinal virtues, courage and sacrifice,
A faithful shire-squire to restore sovereign
Honor in the house of Valandil. »
These verses invited to hope but his heart was troubled by one detail: why did the omen mention an equerry? In fairy tales, the squire was appointed to report the death of his lord. In the old days, Ohtar reported the disaster of the Gladden Fields. Closer to them, Nàr had reported the tale of Thrór's heinous death. Gandalf chased his doubts away and focused his will.
Then the master of Rivendell leaned towards Gerry, smiled benevolently and whispered:
- « You will find more than half of yourself in this adventure, if you do not abandon the essential part. »
The stunned Hobbit could not unravel the skein of this Linnod2, but he would have many days thinking about it.
Elrond finally turned to the company:
-« You leave this house with hope in your heart, to see your dearest wish flourish and bear fruits for the future. May you watch over your companions before you cherish your own dreams! Leave with the blessing of Elves, Dwarves and Men. »
X-X-X
The company finally shook in songs of farewell and good luck. First Thràin led his eleven companions, along with Gandalf. Gerry and Arathorn followed them. The three Dúnedain closed the line with their long, slow ranger's stride. They crossed the narrow bridge over the Bruinen and began the climb to the plateau. Gerry looked back with a heavy heart, while the column disappeared into a mist as they came out of the thickets. He ceased to float in time to re-enter the bitter realities of the outside world. The ponies began to grumble: the slope of the steeper trail, the colder weather, rumors of the wilderness, all combined to hinder their progress in the slope. Gandalf flattered his mule that was willing to comply, but most Dwarves, cursing and grumbling, had to dismount under the mocking eyes of the rangers.
Once on the highlands, they were greeted by a chorus of songs from birds and Elves, who held forth in the dense undergrowth. Elladan, Elrond's son, had wanted to explore and secure a wide perimeter around the valley to facilitate the departure of their guests. Dúnedain smiled to the petty quips that rang out and waved back, but the Dwarves' already stern faces showed they felt slightly offended. They walked extensively through the woods to the South-east, before emerging unexpectedly on a highway that undulated toward East and the mountain range.
The weather was clear and the temperature was slowly rising. The Dwarves sang a marching song and eventually returned to their stools, still singing. Dúnedain traveled in silence, quick and furtive shadows when they could, barely noticed by the animals themselves. They felt uncomfortable, dragging on the road with this noisy band. But Arathorn let the troops bawl the first day. At the camp in the evening, when the guard turns were distributed, he summoned a short council to set the record straight. Helped by Gandalf, he received command of principle for the trip to the mines, recommending silence and listening.
They toiled for long days, climbing a steeper and steeper slope. Dwarves and Dùnedain, who spoke little to each other, did not speak at all from one group to another. Each drew on his memories or his hopes to mobilize his courage and will. Arathorn thought wistfully of the sweetness of the hidden valley and the loved ones who safely waited there. Barin was remembering the excellent food and relived his visits to the master kitchens of Rivendell. Some crafty Dwarves, Nàr and Màr in particular, dreamed about the prowess they could achieve in the forge. They had shared some best practices with Elven smiths who had followed Elrond after Ost-in-Edhil's looting. The Hobbit, looking at blur gray mists of the western horizon, imagined his parents and friends in the fields or over a pint at the inn after their daily toil. He surprised himself with such thoughts, but he also noticed a strange and nagging feeling of lack: a Hobbit-girl was waiting for him, but her enigmatic smile did not reveal any intimate face. The most severe shortage was certainly not the absence of any Hobbit-girl, but the lack of familiar features.
The little Hobbit shuddered. Since breakfast time in the morning he could not get warm, the air became cool at this altitude. The road climbed steadily, walkers guided ponies and mules that had now adopted an acceptable cruising pace. The road, which had thinned, sometimes left some doubts at crossings. These mountains were spanned by many trails, but most led to dangerous dead-ends. The Hobbit wondered aloud who could have traced them. Gandalf looked askance at him:
-« You do not want to know! »
The rangers now formed the vanguard and the rearguard of the column, avoiding the tricks of the trail, clearing the passage and assisting latecomers. Thràin took umbrage at this takeover. Late on the afternoon, he recognized a shelter built by Dwarves, a little away from the trail, and he commanded they spend the night there, but Arathorn opposed it, arguing that the speed was their best strategy. Most of the passes were held by evil things. But Gandalf, who himself retained an excellent memory of these trails, had asked Thràin to trust Arathorn, whose knowledge of goblins and mountains was second to none. Nonetheless, the Dùnadan leader showed gradually more worried as they climbed. Hours earlier, a small thrush had landed on his shoulder and had steeped in a frantic chatter that had darkened the mood of her master. Arathorn explained that he was certain of the road, yet he expected to encounter signs left by his scouts. He sent Hirgon3 forward, his most skillful tracker. The tall silent man returned the next morning, as the company resumed its climbing, bringing some bad news.
-« The pass is three hours walk ahead of us. When I reached it last night, I found it held by the enemy. It is impossible for our column to pass there unnoticed. So I have slain two goblin guards then I hurled their bodies into the ravine. They will not be found. In the morning, at daylight, I found the entrance to a cave nearby. It is well camouflaged but the goblin leader had remained there out of laziness and cowardice. I caught him and I caused a landslide that will block them for some time. Anyway I doubt they go out by day. We should hasten and enjoy the respite. »
Gerry marvelled at the efficiency of the warring Dúnedain. Arathorn congratulated Hirgon and ran forward with Gilhael. After an hour of strenuous climb, they came upon a small mound, obviously left by rangers. These signs, left by the team that passed there three weeks before, said they had noticed nothing unusual. The two men forced the pace and reached the pass. Large patches of snow lingered on the slopes facing North. A cold wind was blowing between rocks, whispering dark warnings with a monotonous and gloomy tune. While Arathorn stood guard before Hirgon's barrage of stones and rocks, Gilhael explored the eastern slope. The ranger noticed the trail of an orc party, down then back up the trail. Arathorn concluded that his men had been spotted and chased. Yet news had been received, indicating that the group was unharmed, several days after the pass. Goblins had therefore probably meant to track them and find their route rather than exterminate them. Or they had been misled by more skillful scouts…
When the column reached the pass, Thráin ordered the cave exit to be completely blocked. Gerry was amazed by the work force of a dozen Dwarves, started in their pride, and who also meant to display their superiority in war. The gigantic work was done in record time. To this Dwarven feat, Gandalf quietly added some injunction of closing, while the company was quickly restoring. The group left about noon and ran down the slope with great rapidity. Arathorn left Gilhael as rearguard to cover their exposed descent to the edge of the pines.
Luck was with the company. The weather changed quickly, and the rain began to fall. Arathorn blessed it because their tracks would be erased. As the sky was darkening, rain was soon followed by lightning which struck randomly the mountain peaks around them. Stones sometimes ran down the slope in front of or behind the company or even between the ponies. But a rock hit Frerin's mount, that fell and hurt his left rear leg. As the animal was limping and bleeding, Arathorn did his best to heal the mount and the company found refuge on the first roughly flat land they found in the forest.
Then it was realized that Frerin's Elven egg, carried by the poor animal, had been broken in the fall, with a few other small items. The young Dwarf carefully unpacked the remains of his egg. He found a bottle of ovoid form, tinned, of impact-resistant metal. Frerin opened the bottle, reluctantly sniffed the fumes and grimaced. Barin volunteered to taste the Elven mixture but Arathorn firmly dissuaded him. Turning to Gandalf with an interrogative and dubious frown, Frerin asked of what use could be this drink, with such a strong smell. Gandalf lifted it to his nostrils; it smelled like a concentrate pot-au-feu of laurel and cloves. The wizard handed the bottle to Ingold who sniffed the potion and said:
-« I think it is an Elvish balm to treat muscle injuries, sprains or joint diseases. It certainly works by contact, as a poultice if possible; do not spread it on a wound or ingest it, except as a powerful emetic. »
Arathorn added with a grateful thought for Master Elrond:
- « Maybe this gift comes in time to help you care for your pony, Frerin? »
Ingold helped Frerin to apply some of the precious balm, massaging the pony's limb.
The next morning the ranger and the Dwarf, who began to sympathize, were examining the animal with satisfaction when Gilhael joined them under a steady rain. The tracker announced that he had noticed nothing special at the pass, except thuds under the rock since a late hour of the night. No doubt this mishap would teach goblins to excavate more than one output to their galleries. At the first light of dawn, Gilhael had slipped away as ordered, while goblins seemed to have made no notable progress. The company had nothing to fear provided they walk a good step. As the injured mount seemed restored, the troops took the trail, eager to leave this awful place. But Arathorn felt it was better, both for the group cohesion, and for their subsequent chances, to conserve their energy. The troops calmly strode their next step under a penetrating and constant rain. Ingold and Arathorn took turns at the rear of the column for erasing their tracks, while Gilhael and Hirgon advanced forward as scouts.
But they were not disturbed, thanks to the combined skill of their leaders. The company followed the road, large again and clearly defined under the trees, heading southeast. Arathorn, a thrush on his shoulder, sometimes sent her scout the ground nearby. Thráin grumbled, considering it a waste of time to join the great forest, far beyond the Anduin River. Arathorn addressed him quite firmly:
-« Our battleforce and equipment do not allow us to walk on the mountainside. Cutting blindly northbound would compell us to permanent, long detours, dangerous for our mounts. We're moving quickly on this road without the risk of hurting our pack animals. Also our route, up to the edge of the forest, does not discriminate us from ordinary travelers. Then we'll head north, through a sheltered land, very easy to cross, where we can hunt and feed our mounts without any difficulty. Thoughtless precipitation would lead us to disaster, noble Thràin. »
Gandalf used his credit on a more conciliatory tone before Thráin could pronounce unpleasant protests:
- « My dear Thràin, I implore you to give, as I do, credit to the skill of the Dúnedain. Their caution is the surest guarantee of success. »
Two days later, at the end of the afternoon, they reached lands with a rich soil, where groves of elms and beeches grew near prairies that bloomed with thousands of colors under clouds of bees. At nightfall, they reached the ford of the Anduin. The wide river carried beige waters, swollen by the melted snows far North in the Gray Mountains. Small wooden forts were built on both banks. They protected the lashing of the big ropes stretched across the river for safe passage. These redoubts allowed to hold the ford against attackers. Silhouettes of archers fluttered on the wooden ramparts when the company approached.
Gandalf, Thràin and Arathorn advanced and parleyed a moment with the guards. Big brown Men and a few Women held them out with their longbows. They wore skin clothes embroidered with colorful designs. Eventually they were allowed to pass. The rangers' clothing awoke a few remarks from the alarmed guards, but their leader had them keep quiet and reassured. The company passed the ford and climbed the East bank under the supervision of the guards.
That evening the Dwarves and the Dùnedain could light some fires near the eastern fort. They ate something warmer and much tastier than the previous days. Their morale was greatly improved, even if Thràin and Nàr were offended by the heavy toll imposed by the foresters. The company had received strict instructions regarding the information to be given: they were traders traveling to Esgaroth-upon-the-long-lake, for business. The Dwarves were able to deal some exchanges, yielding weapons against beautiful furs. They built up a small makeshift forge and repaired some axes. Obviously these weapons were used for goblins and wargs necks, they were no mere hatchets.
The following day, the company took ostensibly the East Road, early in the morning. The ford's guards watched them go, sternly farewelling the travelers. After about a mile, they left the road to the North in the middle of a dry stretch, where a small thrush hopped with a cheeky air. The Dúnedain meticulously erased their mark along an entire furlong. Dwarves dismounted their ponies, that got tired more quickly on this soft ground. Arathorn veered slightly to their right, climbing the slope to less waterlogged soils.
The Dwarves reckonned the balance of their spendings and earnings at the ford foresters' station, concluding as good traders, that they had done well. Gerry, who for a moment had been dreaming of the feasts of the Great Smials at mid-year, asked who had paid for him.
Hirgon laughingly replied that the guards had hesitated to charge Gerry as a child, but they had remembered the legends of their ancestors where small "hole-bytlans" with hairy feet, inhabited the banks of the river.
-« Legend has emerged in full daylight for our guests. In their eyes we are untouchable thanks to you, Gerry! Arathorn said.
- It's a chance, said Gerry, my purse is at its lowest!
- You will be entitled a share of the treasure. Meanwhile the Dúnedain cover your share of the costs of the expedition.
- I do not see what I could do when we arrive. Before discovering that Rhovanion foresters saw me as a living legend, I had the uncomfortable feeling of being a useless package.
- Be assured, Master Gerry, we still need a burglar when it comes to exploring a little-known mine », assured the Dwarf Barin.
Thràin disliked the way the conversation was led. He interfered haughtily:
- « It is obvious that the emoluments for Master Gerry, whose doubts I praise, will be deducted from the Dùnedain share, as well as Master Gandalf's share. »
Arathorn obviously could not ignore this unmistakable provocation.
- « Although the presence of this worthy wizard honors and comforts us, the Dúnedain in no way required his participation. If his eminent skills have not yet earned your appreciation, it goes without saying that the Dùnedain would provide for Gandalf's reward. But I prefer to believe, King Thràin, your memory is more uncertain than your word. Maybe we should write down the agreement sworn in Rivendell, lest the circumstances lead us to interpret it too freely? »
Appalled, although he was the author of the first verbal aggression, Thráin now sported a purple complexion. Gandalf raised his voice:
- «Do not worry, Thràin, if you still have doubts about me, I will take away the share that you will give me, one or the other. But perhaps these material issues will be facilitated when some of us are dead and the survivors saved one another's life several times! »
This outburst calmed the heat of rhetoric, if not the resentment. Gandalf casually changed the subject, talking with the Hobbit of the origin of his ancestors along the Anduin.
Then the company adopted a rapid pace, rarely stopping, walking long and silently, passing from a thicket to another. Rangers often went forward, leaving their pack animals in the care of Gerry or their companions.
The next evening, Arathorn made an effort to break the ice and somehow bond the company. At Rivendell, he had managed to gather a good amount of pipe-weed, thanks to master-herbalists of Rivendell who grew and prepared all kinds of leaves for their ointments. He had dried and cut, for his personal use and to offer when Gandalf and Gerry would have depleted their reserves. He had also had built several wooden pipes, which he had carried away.
Dùring the spring festival, Arathorn had noticed the interest of Thràin for games of smoke. At the camp in the evening, he approached the Dwarf King, and courteously, offered him with a pipe and proposed he joined the lesson led by Gerry. The maneuver, although political, was nonetheless appreciated by the Dwarves, especially Nàr and Màr, counselors and parents of Thràin. Eventually the whole company came up around the fire, to review the progress of smokers under the supervision of the little Hobbit.
Dwarves and Dùnedain relaxed around colored smoke rings, late in the evening. Arathorn liberally distributed his additional pipes – to Màr, Nàr and Ingold. Subsequently several Dwarves harnessed to build a pipe with a nestable hearth for themselves. The spirits were appeased and it would have been a perfect evening if the memory of an ancient evil had not come to trouble it.
After a particularly successful figure, only Gandalf managed to surpass, Gerry was seized by a seemingly innocuous coughing, which had the audience laugh. Yet a burden remained on his heart, a taste of burnt oil that clung to his stomach and lungs. Gerry stopped smoking, to the astonishment of Gandalf. When the Hobbit became pale, Arathorn sent him to bed with warm clothing. The whole camp went to bed.
But it was only later that night, when Gerry expressed the feeling of a painful lump of burnt blood obstructing his chest, that Gandalf, who watched over him, was seized by doubt. The wizard asked Arathorn to check and double the guard that night. The ranger knew that Gandalf was afraid when he saw him put the pack animals in the center of the three fires of the company. In the middle of the night the Hobbit complained of hallucinations: a grinning mask with bloody fangs had returned in his nightmares to torment him. Gandalf, feeling helpless, saw him sink into a disturbing trance.
It was at this moment that Hirgon raised the alert: dark shapes approached stealthily. Immediately the camp was got up in uproar. Thráin and Arathorn divided the company to protect the fires and mounts. Howls of wolves broke out all around the companions. Gerry opened bulging eyes, his body paralyzed. Gandalf securely tied the Hobbit to the shelter of a large stump and stood up. With a wave of his hand, the firelights became brighter, revealing many pairs of malicious eyes. But the company was far from succumbing to panic. The Dwarves in combat formation had a fierce glint in their eyes, the heavy-handed Dùnedain kept their calm in battle, and Gandalf had never been defeated yet.
Then Fràr, a nephew of Màr, and the Dúnedain shot a few arrows sparingly, whenever they could hit for sure. Several pairs of eyes drooped in a rattle. Howls decreased, some turning into little plaintive cries. Then an icy breath spread throughout the company. Something terrible was approaching. A different scream sounded suddenly, which raised the hair on the back of all living soul. Gandalf and Arathorn had ever heard it on the other side of the mountains. A werewolf advanced, gigantic, followed by a huge black wolves pack.
Suddenly they charged. Thráin ordered the Dwarves to hold their positions. A volley of arrows whistled, mowing three wolves. An arrow struck the monster on the chest, which took it off like an annoying thorn. Thráin and Arathorn joined the rank of Dwarves who faced the onslaught. There were Màr, Fràr and Norin. The shock sent the lattest and the two captains to the ground, but the werewolf was wounded in the head. The simultaneous attack on all sides that followed this frontal attack completely broke the defensive formation of the company. Gandalf struck, cutting and thrusting at arm's reach, protecting the Hobbit and the mounts. But Dwarves and Dùnedain held on. The storm abated, except the monster that struck with its dangerous claws, staying mostly out of reach.
Then a roar sounded in the woods. Most wolves disbanded immediately, while the werewolf, alone against the company, hesitated and then retreated. Arathorn fetched his bow and specially forged arrows, and set off in pursuit. Thráin shouted him to come back, ordering the defense reformation of the company. But the Dùnadan chief meant to put an end to this threat. He darted into the darkness and immediately regretted not to bear any torch. He had already moved some poles further when he was assaulted by several huge black wolves. The first fell, the eye pierced by an arrow. The ranger unsheathed his sword, driven back to a tree by four big males.
Things would have gone wrong for him without the help of a huge bear, which emerges from a thicket. With a swipe, he broke a wolf's hindquarters and snapped another by the spine, breaking the neck off. Arathorn took advantage of the surprise to plunge his weapon into the jaws of the closest beast. The last wolf fled in a yelp. Arathorn stood on hold for a moment, facing the bear that turned and ran away, to the place where the screams and the sounds of a furious close-combat came from.
Arathorn could hardly distinguish what was going on in the thicket. Finally he discerned two major bears struggling with the werewolf. A stricken bear was about to receive the final blow when the second grabbed the monster's shoulder. The werewolf got rid of it with a swipe. Then luck smiled at the Dùnadan: Gandalf was approaching with his light, which revealed the monster's chest for a moment. The ranger bent his wepon and launched the fatal shaft. Forged by Elrond and his Noldor parents, the mithril4 arrow bore the secular hatred of Elves for evil and darkness. It reached the monster in the heart. It collapsed gurgling unspeakable curses, before dying in a rattle. Gandalf and Arathorn cautiously approached the thicket. The bears had flown, leaving the hideous corpse, still trembling with hate. Arathorn severed the head while Gandalf made sure the body returned to nothingness.
The return to the camp was triumphant: the wounds of the company were minor, except Bafur who suffered a nasty bite on his left arm. The fighters joyfully patted themselves on the back, while their captains rejoiced together at the victory. Arathorn showed the head of the werewolf to the company. Now it had the appearance of a horrible mixture of Human and dog. Gerry was horrified by that. Arathorn burnt the head, which released a horrible stench. Ingold was called to provide his knowledge and skills, with the support of Gandalf and Norin. Dwarves repaired the disorder caused by the attack. A new guard was established, and the camp tried to finish its night. But little Gerry sank into a coma of growing concern, as he had done at Rivendell. After two hours of wakefulness, Gandalf, Arathorn and Ingold confessed their impotence.
In desperation, Arathorn opened his bag and pulled out a package. He gently opened the Elven egg of the spring fair. Confident in the premonitory power of Elrond, he expected a lot. But what he found disappointed him - a ball of compressed leaves, fresh and wrinkled as if they emerged from the bud. He recalled the actions of his wife and reproduced her deeds, thinking of her grace and presence. Was it the loving thought of the lady or the thaumaturgic power of the King's descent, or the vanishing of the werewolf's charred remains? Still, the Hobbit began to breathe normally. Retrieving the tone of a living being, Gerry opened one eye and said:
-« I would fancy some snacks… »
He was liberally granted a nocturnal meal. Gandalf finally found sleep.
X-X-X
At dawn the next day, Krorin raised the alarm again. A man and a woman, both tall and large, peacefully presented themselves at the camp. Their appearance seemed strange to the Dúnedain and Dwarves, but Gandalf thought he knew who they were. The couple was dressed in rather crude laced hides of deerskin leather. The hairy, muscular man far exceeded Arathorn, resting his club on his shoulder. His face, eaten by a very thick black beard, expressed an innate respect for the living, mixed with some mistrust for Humans, alone capable of lying. He made a sign of peace with his right hand, like foresters.
The woman reached the size of the tallest of the Dúnedain. Though her face was smooth, her powerful limbs, covered with dense body hair, wielded an ax that the Hobbit could not have even raised. Gerry woke up because the discreet hubbub of an awakening camp had abruptly turned into the respectful silence that greeted the arrival of their visitors. The woman also bowed, smiled and addressed Arathorn in Westron, with a pronounced northern accent that rolled the "r" as a cub would growl:
- « My clan calls me Bera. Bearn is my brother, the dominant male of our clan. We welcome you now that the furious dancing bear ornament5 has subsided. May the rays of your hives be overfilled with honey. »
The woman had placed particular emphasis on the word "brother." Gandalf stepped forward to give the appropriate response:
- « Let your storage abound for your winter slumbers! »
Bera and Bearn bowed to Gandalf. The couple seemed sensitive to the power of the old and dominant. Thus the two giants reiterated their greeting before Thráin who strutted, his great ax at shoulder. The woman, who seemed the most playful, spoke again in the name of the man:
- « Let the father of the Naugrim clan be thanked. Bearn, lord of this land, recognizes mighty warriors in you and accepts you into his clan. »
The smiles of the young woman clearly reflected a hope. As she was the sole speaker, most of the time while watching Arathorn, the Dùnadan wondered about what being "accepted into the clan" could exactly mean. Gandalf evaded the question, since Bera's interest for Arathorn seemed very insistent to him:
- « Our clan solicits Bearn's permission to pass through his land. We are, as you saw, enemies of the wargs. We have business in the North and our quest suffers no delay. »
Bera's disappointed face was painful to see, despite the magnetic presence and huge strength of the giant woman. As she put her hands in her lap and bent her face ruefully, Bearn advanced, fire in his eyes and his club on his shoulder, looking very upset:
- « Our clans were married in battle today. Bearn rescued your clan and your clan male saved Bera. A debt of honor binds us for now on. We guide you on our lands and sagas will be told together! »
Gandalf, who knew the Bearnings' tongue, however, nonetheless was not able to decipher whether the phrase "saga told together" meant "a tale told to each other" or "mingle our stories." He did not have time to think about it. Gerry, who had not seen the fight of the night and had heard it told, ignored the guessings6 of the company. He asked innocently:
-« Where are the bears? »
Dwalor suggested he should leave leading discussions to Gandalf, in so anxious a tone, that the Hobbit abandoned for the moment the idea to understand what was going on. Clearly the master of the lands did not appreciate much contradiction. Insofar as the mansions of Bearn were located further North and closer to their trail, Arathorn and Thráin saw no objection to share some epic tales in the house of Bearn.
Still the ranger meant to scout around to find out where the wolves had fled. As the company gathered their belongings and loaded the wounded on his pony, he ordered his trackers do a quick inspection of the neighborhood, on a mile radius. They returned hurriedly after a few minutes. All brought the same news: the travelers were surrounded by brown bears.
Bera, noting Arathorn's agitation and annoyance, stepped forth and gently took him by the arm.
- « The dominant male should not worry about his clan. Our bear-brothers protect them from wargs and evil. They gathered to chief Bearn's call.
- Where are the wargs? »
Bera stared at Arathorn, speechless because the Dùnadan needed to be taught facts that even the children of her clan already knew:
-« The wargs fled to the cursed mountain. You killed the Vargúlfr7. It is a great deed. You saved Bera from the horrible wolves' death. But there are many, and more will come. But today victory's sun is shining! »
Then Bearn gave the signal of departure. On the track, the ponies showed signs of nervousness, but the Bearning woman managed to calm them down by stroking or by looking into their eyes. Leading the company Bearn strode, while Gandalf trotted along. To sustain the pace, Thràin had perched on his pony. The mounted Dwarves followed as a compact block around Bera, as a litter of cubs surrounding their mother.
The Dúnedain held up the rearguard, marveling at the alliance of strength, instinctive gifts of the woman, but worried that this power may unleash all at once. Arathorn, well aware of the disquiet of his men - and his Hobbit- felt he could not fend off the advances of the Bearning woman without risking triggering a dangerous disillusion. He found her candor pretty much disarming and could not ignore the danger of turning against him so valuable allies. But his lady filled all his thoughts.
Obviously Bera thought Gerry was the young son of Arathorn, or at least some sort of godson. The Hobbit displayed the pleasant characteristic of abundant fleece on top of his feet, perhaps she felt on familiar ground. The woman, who had young and naive but heavy and energetic features, constantly sought to keep Arathorn's company, and hear tell about himself. Thus the Dwarves, especially Thràin, would have considered the situation as particularly funny, without the awareness that their guests could at any time get back to their terrifying bear form.
The company journeyed long under verdant woodlands, from a treed slope to another. At Bearn's passage, trees and plants seemed to greet the master, their offspring who became man, by the grace of sylvan Maiar8, to rule over the people of the undergrowth. Humus smoked clouded flavors of gingerbread. The sun filtered through the dark green canopy and gilded the morning mist that wrapped her son in a soft scarf of light. They arrived in a space surrounded by large oak trees which branches, located high on the trunk, intersected regularly. In the center, could be seen a small portion of a clear bright sky. A sunbeam penetrated the opening obliquely, illuminating the clearing peopled by a dozen giant stumps. Small white bellflowers lighted the short green grass with silver sparkles. Bearn sat cross-legged on a stump, inviting travelers to rest a while. Gandalf sat on another stump, but he was the only one. Their footsteps on the grass and leaf litter sounded curiously under the protective vault, as in the great hall of an ancient castle. The master ruled in his kingdom, but he had a sacred duty to perform. Bearn put his elbows on his knees and closed his eyes. After a few minutes of deep meditation, a large bee came to rest on his fist. Then slowly it was joined by dozens of thousands. Dwarves and Dùnedain stepped back as soon as politeness allowed.
Bera, spanning the ferns with the grace of a lynx, led Arathorn apart, although he did not wish to leave the group. Her shy smile expressed the excitement of spring and the strength of immemorial seasons but also revealed the uncertain hope of a vulnerable and inexperienced young woman. Two small red squirrels came to play at her feet, as she was weaving a wreath of flowers. She donned Arathorn who grimly guessed the hope of the girl. He took the crown on his head and respectfully put it on the girl's brow, whose smile disappeared. The sparkling white bellflowers fleetingly gave her the profile of a queen, in the prime of her youth but sad and resigned.
The arms of the giant sitting on the stump now resembled overloaded branches with moving clusters of live fruits. When sunlight hit him finally, Bearn stood up, stretching his arms out. The swarm slowly took flight - bees left his arm to reach the other. After long minutes all passed into a deep meditation, each fist bore half of the swarm. Bearn then raised one arm. Immediately the half swarm left the giant's arm, and floated to Bera, who was left alone with her crown, close to tears. The bees lingered over her for a moment, then vanished into the forest, while Bearn was dismissing the bees his fist had called.
Huge Bearn, his forehead bearing pain but with a determined look, joined his sister and had a long conversation with her. Long the debate swung under the worried gaze of the company. Sister and brother concluded their talks, one in unshed tears, the other in contained fury, agreeing that laws of hospitality would be respected.
X-X-X
Then all continued their journey, following the couple, with a heavy heart and alert senses. Several hours were spent under the trees before they reached a new clearing, two furlongs large. It housed many huts arranged around an imposing wooden building. Wen the company arrived, all the people came together to make a spontaneous guard of honor. Bearn and Bera led them to the common hall.
The log building was erect on a stone platform of three poles wide and long. Huge trunks, uplift at the center, formed the mats of a solid double slope frame. The adjusted logs were pierced with rare small windows, that people blocked with curtains in the cold season. When they entered the low door, they realized that the upper floor, served by a fair opening just above, was used as a barn and reserve.
The company was directed to the large central fireplace, where they could unroll their blankets. Comfort was rudimentary but the place was safe and warm. Hams were hanging from the beams above the huge central fireplace, where they ended being smoked. Animal skins were drying after undergoing various treatments. The group settled and got busy like voyagers in a friendly camp - laundry, sewing, repairs, care for the wounded... Gerry took his little sewing kit and showed great skill in mending clothes, like the fashionable Hobbit he remained inside. He even devoted some time to reading and writing, aided by Gandalf, who was amused but very firm on hesitations.
Mounts were parked with the village livestock, while the wizard unloaded and hid his precious and mysterious cases. Afterwards Arathorn, Gandalf and Gerry had a walk in the streets. They noticed a flurry of activity around Bearn, who paced the village and spoke to everyone. With the approach of evening, the small town had received a few dozen warriors with a fierce look, from neighboring villages. All had been conferred for an evening of revelry. The town of Bearn catered for a foreign company, high-ranking warriors who certainly would tell or sing their deeds. The companions went into the house, feeling that some special event was being prepared.
At nightfall a strange character, like an old gnarled root and eyes as bright as a leprechaun, stood at the entrance to the town hall. He progressed slowly with the aid of crutches, but anyone could guess, by the way he used them, that they might as well serve as bludgeons. Handicapped by a hunting accident in his youth, the man had narrowly escaped and turned to lore. Protected by the powers of the forest and by men, he was the storyteller and the shaman of the clan. He was believed to be seen sometimes in the company of sylvan nymphs. For a sure thing he talked to spirits. The shaggy and ageless man cast his sharp eye on the audience. He walked with his rolling gait, right on Gandalf who was smoking in a corner. Both bowed silently but respectfully. Since the old wizard did clearly not intend to interfere, the storyteller joined the central hearth. The audience formed a circle and hushed.
The shaman sprinkled powder on the fire, which freed a heady scent of humus and resin. Colored smokes spread around. Then his melodious and captivating voice rose in the language of the Bearnings. With consummate skills of rhetoric, he told and mimed the fight of the previous night, having his audience panting till the theatrical denouement. Gandalf, whispering to Arathorn and Thràin, reported briefly the eloquent words of the storyteller.
Bearn stood up and paid a heartfelt tribute to the courage of Arathorn's clan. Thráin grimaced but managed to put on a good showing. Honor required Arathorn to pronounce some words of modesty, then to thank Bearn and Bera for their courageous fight and hospitality. Gandalf translated brilliantly and allowed an addition of his own: he quoted King Thràin and his mighty warriors. But the great Dwarf realized this, which added to his resentment towards Arathorn.
Then the shaman, satisfied with the courtesies exchanged, regained control of his audience by telling a long story, punctuated with expressions of emotion from the Bearnings. Here it is, as Gandalf told us later, with the details he could remember.
-« In times immemorial assembled the clan of our ancestors. Our most distant tales sing how our fathers' fathers lived at the bottom of the northern forests. They indulged in hunting and gathering, and in that time Men and Women roamed the woods alike. The lord taught the ways of the forest to the youth of the tribe. One morning he took them to a ritual hunting that would make them adult members. His daughter Barwen and her twin Baran participated. They had forged unbreakable bonds and had sworn loyalty for as long as they live in the service of their people. Their innate understanding allowed them a unique coordination, as for hunting or mind games.
Dùring the tests it happened both twins were lost. They wandered at length in the primordial forest, finding barely enough to sustain themselves. Attacked by giant spiders, they were hunted down and captured. They were going to be devoured when a huge bear rescued them. This bear had been the favorite of Ardau9, the Great Spirit of all the bears in Middle-earth, who had bestowed him with the gift of speech, and had named Arduin. The Great Bear picked them, fed them and lent them shelter during winter. In the early days of spring, Arduin, captivated by the beauty of the girl, turned within a few days into a human being, full of majesty. He opened the soul of his young proteges to study and taught them the Ogham writing and signs language. He disclosed to them that in the West resided the High Elves, holders of science and lore provided by the Mighty Ones. Baran, seduced by the prospect of raising his people to the lights and the worth of the Elves of the West, designed to join to place his people under their prestigious protection. Barwen meanwhile, marveled at the powerful symbiosis between wilderness and the children of men.
So the twins departed from each other without hope of return. In autumn Barwen carried within her, the heir of Arduin. The people of the twins eventually found them, sorely affected by the previous winter; the twins' father himself had departed. Arduin greeted their people and taught them the forestry arts, animal husbandry, cultivation of bees and berries.
Then came the painful separation of the twins: Baran followed his resolution and Barwen chose to remain with her beloved and their child. So the rise of Baran's tribe cost an irreparable loss to the young lord. Swallowing his resentment and grief, he vowed to lead his people in Beleriand to the Elves of light, saying the fate of Human beings may not follow the savagery of predators, but by studying the lore taught by the firstborns.
Barwen remained in Rhovanion with her husband and her son Eochaïd, who was bestowed great gifts: beauty, vivacity and strength. The few faithful tribesmen who remained with Barwen, mingled with the forest population. Over time, Arduin could not keep his Human form permanently: irresistibly attracted to the deep forests and high mountains, he eventually left the community that had begun to form around him. Shortly after the final departure of Arduin, Barwen gave birth to a baby girl, Ardia. Tearful Barwen vowed not to join with any living being. But still evil was to come.
The weakened community was attacked by a band of Orcs of the Misty Mountains, which took Barwen and her baby. Eochaid, who had the power to turn into a giant bear, was seized with an indescribable fury: he pursued the kidnappers to their cave, wiped out the orc tribe and destroyed their lair; but he could only save the little Ardia.
His little sister, disturbed by the early departure of his father and traumatized by her kidnapping, remained silent and sad. Growing up, she isolated herself increasingly and Eochaid alone, who adored her, managed to cheer her up. Over time, it became clear that no one would want to unite with Ardia. Eochaid instituted the tradition that the firstborn of the line, would not have any wife as long as his sisters is not married. After several years of celibacy for both, Eochaid and Ardia were forced to have each other as spouse, finding no other way to remain faithful to their vows.
Their descendants, who all had the power to turn into bears, maintained the tradition for their sister to marry first. Most of the time they only delaid their union, patiently rejecting girls' attention. But it did not happen any more that the male of our people should marry his sister. Yet today the sister of our lord Bearn has still not found a consort. Will it be that Bearn and Bera, who have not yet found any mate, should follow the tradition of our people? »
It goes without saying that at the time, no member of the company, except Gandalf, did understand the scope of this tale. But the assembly began to chant the "cubs rhyme", the song that Barwen used to sedate her little Eochaid, when the absence of his father weighed him.
Gandalf stood up and whispered to Arathorn, «An evening like this is an opportunity to report tales of yesteryear. Here is just one that will raise the judgment of our guests. »
Then the wizard spoke in the language of the Bearnings:
- « People of Bearn! I will tell you what happened to your ancestor who went to the western expanses. The people who followed Baran, facing many dangers, crossed the Misty Mountains, further the Blue Mountains and came into Beleriand after many years. Balan, the son of Baran moved his people into a place of Ossiriand woods, the year three hundred and ten of the first age. The Elf lord Finrod Felagund saw them and watched them for a whole day.
At night, he crept into the camp and, accompanying himself on his harp, he sang a song that seduced men, women and children. In the morning, the Elf lord had understood the principles of the language of this people. He had a long conversation with Balan and they became friends.
Following Finrod's advice, Balan led his people through the plains of eastern Estolad in Beleriand. Balan entered the service of Finrod, he was then known as Beör, which meaning both "bear" and "warrior" in your language, and "vassal" in Finrod's tongue.
Entrusting the lordship of his people to his eldest son, he went to Nargothrond where he remained until the end of his life, contributing to wars against the orcs. At his death, the Elves were surprised and sad, facing the weakness of Humans and the fate that has them leave this world. »
The shaman concluded Gandalf's tale this way:
-« This is how the lineage of the Kings of the West is akin to the lords of the Bearnings. May these two lines meet again one day! »
Bera raised her weeping eyes, that glistened yet with a vaguely renewed hope. The wizard bit his lips. He had sought to educate the clan but his foresight had turned against him. He warned Arathorn that it had inadvertently come again on his marriage with the princess of the clan. The Dùnadan therefore advanced to the center of the hall and, with the help of Gandalf, told the assembly:
-« My clan lives beyond the mountains. Many summers ago, I met my beloved. She gave me a son, who is now old enough to fight our enemies and is the pride of his father. Himself has a son, raised by his grandmother over the mountains, because his mother died in childbirth. I hope to overcome our trials to join them and give them what my people have not been able to restore since many generations: peace. »
This statement, full of sobriety, went straight to the heart of the Bearnings. It emphasized fidelity in love and the pursuit of a peace ideal through military virtues. Yet the tribe was feeling accountable. A life debt was to be paid. It was all the more, to this distant relative whose code of honor was so close to theirs.
The shaman raised his melodious voice again, his words spread up like a muffled chant of encouragement, then the proud accents blossomed into a war song, finaly to explode as a hymn to the glory and courage of the Bearnings. Over singing, some warriors had advanced, in a trance, bearers of the resistance and the honor of a whole people. Last advanced Bearn, possessed by the adventurous fury of his ancestors. The singing stopped.
As in a dream, Bera saw four Bearning warriors and their leader gather and extend their arms over the shoulders of their neighbors. They took up the chorus, singing the final passage, as an oath to excel and risk everything for each other in the event to come. All were village leaders, among the most respected and most powerful warlords of the people of the bear. Their company would befall entire hordes of enemies to protect Arathorn, thought Bera. She walked towards them with a determined air:
-« No ! »
The common house held its breath. Bearn sobered instantly, looking incredulously and painfully at his sister.
-«I refuse anyone being committed to my place for the price of my blood. I have a debt to pay and a man to find. Our villages will not remain defenseless. I shall go forth alone. I said. »
Bearn's face softened. Her sister was grabbing controll over her destiny.
Arathorn was about to set this proposition aside, but Gandalf's imperious look dissuaded this offensive, dangerous and unnecessary approach. The Dùnadan stepped forward and bowed ceremoniously at Bera, soon imitated by Thràin.
The festivities lasted late in the evening. Mead flowed so freely, that many Dwarves did not retain a very precise memory of the night. The next day was devoted to new exchanges, care of the wounded and preparations for Bera.
The powerful girl had hardened her heart and seemed reassured. She often visited the forests men and sometimes held the fords with them against orcs incursions. She had learned Westron and was often more sociable than the Bearning chiefs. But she had never left her village for more than a week, so the prospect of a long journey, alone with strangers, so noble and brave, seemed the adventure of her life. The company greeted her as warmly as could Men and Dwarves at war. Bera immediately turned her disappointed need for affection back on little Gerry, who soon became her confidant. They left the village the next morning, in the twilight of a distant dawn.
While Bera was guiding the group along with Ingold, Arathorn lingered in the rear. Thráin slowed his pony to wait for him. The Dwarf mocked Arathorn as an old comrade:
- « I am surprised that a warlord like you had to resolve to accept a woman in his ranks! Would you have discovered your weakness? »
Arathorn was very upset about this situation, he had not wished for. The Dwarf's playful tone seemed to him awkward and inappropriate. He replied tartly:
-« Do you realize that this woman could certainly tear your head apart in one fell swoop? She is an excellent recruit, noble and reliable. Her sacrifice for blood debt is worthy of the greatest. She simply considers having no choice. I suppose you understand the unbearable weight of a blood debt, since you have kindled a war for this reason. »
Thràin, whose only intention was to establish a certain complicity in a conversation between boys, scowled and made no further attempt to do so...
1 J.R.R. Tolkien
2 Device, maxim, dictum or puzzle
3 This name means « Lordly Stone » or « Lord of Rock » in sindarin. It may be supposed that his noble lineage backs the King by family tradition.
4 Mithril, dearest metal to the Elves, also known as « True silver », glitters like silver and is as light as aluminium.
5 Rather free traduction for Berserkr : bear's shirt in old norse.
6 Guessings we hope our reader has resolved!
7 Werewolf, in old norse.
8 Maïar, singular maïa : beings of divine nature, of a lower rank, usually attached to the nature of Middle-Earth.
9 The Vala Oromë.